


Forever Would Be Just Before the Dawn

by queenklu



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-14
Updated: 2011-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:43:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Steve can't breathe. </i></p><p>A coda to 1x23.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Would Be Just Before the Dawn

Steve is home. Alone. Again. He takes a step in the door and suddenly he can’t stand to be anything but barefoot—these are the shoes he was wearing when Danny got poisoned, these are the socks covering the feet that almost couldn’t get to his partner in time. His shirt smells like explosives and hospital. His cargo pants have a faint yellow line on them from when Grace’s crayon slipped coloring in the sun after she finished Danny’s hair.  
   
He can’t breathe. And even thinking that, _fuck_ , even feeling his chest seize up makes him feel sick because his chest tightness is just melodramatics and Danny really _couldn’t get air in his lungs._ Steve can still hear him, the little wheezing gasps like Danny’s lungs were crumpling in on themselves, getting smaller and smaller and _fuck—_  
   
Steve’s fist slams through the wall. The force jolts up his arm like a pole getting smacked with an aluminum baseball bat, jars and leaves him trembling with aftershocks. He doesn’t think his hand is broken but it hurts like it is, and he extricates himself from crumpled drywall with more care than he thinks he deserves. The wall was weak here anyway, plastered over where a bullet took a chunk from it when Bullfrog tried to tear it to pieces getting to General Pak.  
   
Danny had helped fixed it. The whole team had helped repair the house, spent the weekend all-but living here, Kono insisting on climbing every available ladder while Chin checked all the wiring, and Danny there with sawdust in his hair and a smear of spackle on his collar, and their presence had made this place feel like a home instead of a tomb for the first time since…since Steve’s mom died, if he’s being honest.  
   
But all that’s gone. Or was maybe never here to start with. His air leaks out and he can’t look at the bags in his kitchen, has to lean hard on the counter and let his head hang low until his vision stops spinning.  
   
Rachel was there at the hospital. Which makes…sense. Sort of. In the way that dropping everything and flying to your ex-husband’s bedside to ditch a romantic getaway just…doesn’t. Still, _Father of her child,_ Steve tells himself, raking a hand through his hair so maybe he won’t notice the shaking. Plus, it’s. It’s Danny. Steve can’t imagine anywhere that he’d even be sorry to leave if it meant getting to Danny’s hospital room.  
   
So Steve doesn’t blame her; couldn’t if he wanted to. And he can’t blame Danny, because—because this thing, this thing Steve thought they were maybe leading up to, this thing that made his entire god damn day because Grace called him _Uncle Steve,_ the reason he has bags on his kitchen counters right now—  
   
But he keeps seeing Danny’s face with Rachel’s head cradled on his chest, one finger pressed to his lips and his eyes crinkled up in a grin _Steve has never seen before_ , that—that stings. Like he swallowed a beehive.  
   
“Stop it,” he grits out at himself, and pushes upright and away. The shirt he strips off and flings into the basement on his way to the stairs. The pants have too much shit in them to be burned, but as soon as he finds time to empty the pockets, they’re on the list of bonfire fuel. Steve’s bed looks twice as empty climbing into it, and he has to bark at himself five more times before his brain will go quiet.  
   
His knuckles are banged up. He’s going to get blood on the sheets. He doesn’t care.  
   
~*~

“Hey, what’s this? I’m gone ten minutes and you’re all just standing around doing nothing?”  
   
Steve’s heart lurches just once, and then he shuts it up, tucks it in the lid of the latest clue from his Dad’s toolbox as the conference room fills with Kono and Chin and Danny’s ribbing laughter. Danny’s hugging Jenna when Steve leaves his office, and Steve just doesn’t want to see, it’s not that he can’t take it—he looks down at his watch like Danny has been holding them up for waiting.  
   
“Sidebar,” he says, and he’s knows his stance is nothing less than ridiculous, okay? He knows it’s cocky cowboy and nose-rubbing nonchalance to cover up—what, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know until Danny asks him and Steve’s mouth falls open and he says, “You and Rachel.”  
   
Danny’s smile is thin, _What of it,_ and Steve catches himself staring too long, hoping that secrets will spill out.  
   
But they don’t, and Steve nods like he learned something anyway. “How long has that been going on?”  
   
And oh, fuck, that’s what he hadn’t meant to ask, that’s exactly what he doesn’t want to know. But there’s some dim shred of hope that thinks maybe Danny will say, “About twelve hours,” and it’ll sting less, Steve thinks, than Danny’s real answer.  
   
“A…little while.”  
   
The punch in the face is that smirk, that happy, incandescent hint of a grin lurking in the corners of Danny’s mouth, that’s— Steve feels irrationally betrayed, dimly, somewhere else, because he can’t let anyone see it, he can’t deal with it right now so it doesn’t exist. Yet.  
   
All this really means is that when Steve asks, “Were you ever going to tell me?” his voice doesn’t give an inch.  
   
“Was I ever gonna—“ Danny repeats and turns his head and laughs a little and it’s pure Danno, right there, that’s exactly what Steve did when he picked up Grace and he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. “You know, we have…become very close—“ he says, gesturing between the two of them.  
   
“Did you say—gotten very close, we’ve gotten very close,” Steve says because Danny’s voice dropped to a mumble on that last bit like he was ashamed of something, and it’s taking every last shred of control Steve has not to grab Danny by the shoulders and demand _Close to_ what, _exactly. Close to kissing? Close to fucking? Close physically but not emotionally, what,_ what, _Danny_?  
   
And instead he fumbles some bullshit about warm and cuddly and near death experiences and Danny’s smile is wide and indulgent, shifting on his feet like he’s waiting for something and then—  
   
Then they’re hugging. And it’s good. And one fraction of a second longer and Steve would have tucked his face against Danny’s neck and breathed him in, in front of anyone dumb enough to turn their way, so.  
   
So he guesses he owes Sang Min a thank you.  
   
~*~  
   
Protective custody means Steve’s safe-room in his basement, handcuffed to a pipe until they can arrange something better—Sang Min doesn’t even bitch about being uncomfortable, which is yet another mark in the Really and Truly Scared For His Life column. Danny comes with, because he’s on a kick to prove he’s as hale and healthy as he was before he got hit with a nerve-frying bio-weapon, and because Kono still had a look on her face like she wanted to round-house kick Chin’s head until it screwed on straight.  
   
“Holler if you need anything.” Steve holds up his walkie-talkie and gestures to the one in Sang Min’s lap as he stands.  
   
“Will do, hoss,” Sang Min mumbles, not even bothering with his usual snake-like head gestures. He looks small, human in ways he doesn’t usually let himself be. Scared. No bravado. Like something is walking around in Sang Min’s shell.  
   
“Hey,” Steve says, kneeling down again. He can hear Danny’s footsteps checking the perimeter from here, creaking along the floorboards. “Hey, tell me this: you deal with scary shit on a day-to-day basis. What’s so different now?”  
   
Sang Min looks him dead in the eye, and then drops it, like he had some challenge to throw down and it evaporated on him. “My family,” he mutters, then adds fast when Steve tenses up, “No. No, I got them off the island alive on my own, no trace. I don’t even know where they’re going.” His head tips sideways against the pipe, and he pushes against it like it has any sort of give. Or like an animal looking for comfort. “I have a system worked out—when it’s safe, when Wo Fat is dead or in prison, I’ll let her know. But she doesn’t have to come back to me.”  
   
“But if there’s no danger to them, then why are you—“ Steve starts.  
   
Sang Min scoffs, about a tenth of his usual steam. “If I die, haole, who will let them know they can stop running for their lives?”  
   
It’s been a while since Steve was called haole, but it does happen, and more often than Danny would ever think.  
   
“Plus, it’s. It’s love, you know?” Sang Min’s mouth twists, wry. “Just because I’m always going to be the bad guy doesn’t mean she can’t be happy.”  
   
That hits closer to home than Steve should let it, one more deep crack in the dam letting him keep his shit together. He needs Danny out of his house as soon as possible without raising any alarms, and then he’ll check one last time on Sang Min and fall the fuck apart. And maybe when he fits himself back together things will make more sense.  
   
He gets Sang Min a couple books and a chair to sit in before he goes.  
   
He’s blinking in the brighter light of his house when Danny struts in, pale plastic bag from the kitchen dangling from his fingertips. And Steve just stops, he knows Danny is talking but he can’t hear over the high panicked whine in his ears until he shakes his head.  
   
“What?” Danny asks, ducking his head like he can’t already see whatever expression is on Steve’s face. But he’s still smiling, so it can’t be what Steve thinks his expression should be. “Come on, don’t be embarrassed. It’s perfectly normal for a grown ex-Navy SEAL to want to—wait, I’ll read the box—make your own princess mirror?”  
   
Steve feels nauseous, angry, and humiliated.  
   
“But, ah,” Danny chuckles and pulls another item from the bag, shakes it. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Steven? Trix are for kids.”  
   
Steve doesn’t move, as much as he wants to rip the bag from Danny’s fingers. If he moves he might punch him.  
   
“Come on,” Danny says, hands splaying wide. “Give me a clue, here. Grace’s birthday isn’t for another month. What’s with the stuff?”  
   
He really doesn’t— Wow, Jesus, that almost makes it better, in a sickening sort of way. “Danny, can I ask you a question?” His thumb swipes across his mouth after Danny’s name, because he just doesn’t want it there, on his lips.  
   
“Shoot.”  
   
“Does love make you stupid?”  
   
Danny blinks, face scrunching sideways. “Traditionally, with a broad definition of the word ‘you’ to include all of mankind? Or does love make me stupid, specifically?”  
   
He still has that—that smile, that happiness floating around him, and Steve doesn’t—he doesn’t want it gone but—  
   
“You,” he says, turns himself away so he can force out a laugh. And it’s weak, god, he knows it’s weak, but he just wants Danny out of his house. “I said Grace could stay at my place until Rachel and Stan got back, remember?”  
   
“Oh.” Danny looks… Steve isn’t looking, so he doesn’t know, but he sounds surprised.  
   
Steve needs something to do with his hands, flashes Danny a smile with his eyes unfocused and walks past him into the kitchen. He gets a glass from the cupboard and starts scrubbing it out, like it was ever anything but spotless to begin with.  
   
“So…” Danny says, and fifty bucks says he’s leaning in the doorway, or against the counter, surveying all the shit Steve went out and bought. Arts and crafts and more glitter than should ever be necessary, a toy seal with a magnetic ball on its nose for dolphin trainer Barbie and six different Disney movies because he couldn’t remember which princess Grace liked best.  
   
Danny whistles low, and Steve might be imagining the uncomfortable note in his chuckle under the sound of rustling bags. “You really went all out, huh?”  
   
“Yup.” Steve puts the cup down upside down on the counter and starts in on the other dishes in his sink. It’s a pitiful number, but one man in a house by himself doesn’t make much of an impact on anything.  
   
“Wh…” There’s that chuckle again. “Where did you find the time?”  
   
Silverware hits the sink with a bang-clatter that jerks the words out before Steve can stop them. “I _made_ time, Danny.”  
   
“Whoa, hey, calm down, I just meant—“  
   
Steve’s knuckles are white around the sink basin, and if he could he’d rip it out and throw it against the wall. He chokes on a groan, shakes his head hard to knock the bad thoughts loose, growling at himself, “What the hell were you thinking?”  
   
What had he been thinking? That Grace would move in for the weekend and maybe Danny could stay here while he healed up because Grace would love it here, and maybe while they were playing happy family Danny would— _what?_  
   
“Excuse me?” Danny asks, flat and getting more affronted by the syllable.  
   
Steve rounds on Danny before he knows he’s moving, has to keep one hand clutching the sink so he doesn’t lunge at him. “What the hell were _you_ thinking?”  
   
Danny’s jaw is tight, eyes so fucking blue Steve can’t stand it.  
   
“What _are_ you thinking, Danny?” Steve demands, and it’s half-begging. “A little while? How long is a _little while?_ Since last week? Since Matt? Rachel is _married,_ Danny, it doesn’t matter that she was married to you first, it doesn’t matter if she’s the mother of your child, she’s _married_ —“  
   
“Things with her and Stan haven’t—“  
   
“ _FUCK_ things with her and Stan!”  
   
Steve’s shout makes his own ears ring, and Danny looks like he’s been slapped. And suddenly in that ringing silence something else comes creeping in, a dot Steve hadn’t yet connected. “Oh…wow,” he groans, sagging against the counter, pinched grin tacked to his face. “I don’t know how I—Rachel leaves Stan. You get back with Rachel. And you get to go back to Jersey, off this island for good.”  
   
This is the first time Steve has ever felt like he could physically throw up from emotional turmoil since he was a kid and his mom came home in a box.  
   
It’s Danny’s turn to talk, Steve can’t unclench his teeth long enough to even think of what to say next. He watches Danny get his words into an order that’s acceptable, and Steve’s skin feels ice cold.  
   
“Okay.” Danny takes a deep breath, and it’s a struggle not to find that simple action calming, that Danny still _can._ “Not that it’s any of your business—“  
   
Steve chokes on something that still comes out like hurt little whine.  
   
“—but,” and Danny almost hesitates and then doesn’t, “I haven’t _done_ anything with Rachel. I _wouldn’t._ That you think I would, and have—that you think I’d screw up Grace like that— What if we didn’t work out a second time, huh? You think I think that’s a risk I’m going to take, that I’d risk putting Grace through that all over again— _Fuck_ you,” Danny spits. “Fuck you, McGarrett, and the truck you rode in on.”  
   
“But—“ Steve’s lips feel numb, and he’s half-glad Danny cuts him off.  
   
“’A little while’ means—surprise— _a little while._ How long have I been not hating Rachel’s guts enough to allow dippy little daydreams of a fantasy land where we’re back together? _A little while_. Why didn’t I tell you, like you asked me earlier? I didn’t tell you, _because they’re dippy little daydreams_. Even with Rachel saying things might not work out with her and Stan—which actually makes me want to punch someone in face, thanks for asking—I still don’t know if I can ever see it actually happening. Okay?”  
   
“Why does them breaking up make you angry?” Steve asks, voice surprisingly small.  
   
Danny stares at him. “She left me _for him_ , split our family down the middle and uprooted us to this rock, and you think it doesn’t make me a little annoyedthat it wasn’t even for something that worked out—no, wait, it’s not Rachel’s fault, I’m not saying it is, I’m not even—and yeah, okay, my first reaction when she told me was “That’s good,” but—but I keep thinking about it, and—“  
   
Danny’s hand-gestures are out in full swing, making Steve dimly grateful that he’s way over here instead of close enough to lose an eye. But then Danny deflates, braces himself on the counter briefly before facing Steve. “I just want her to be happy,” he says, like he’s spelling it out. “I don’t think she remembers how really _unhappy_ we made each other there at the end. I don’t think I was remembering it either, alright, to be fair. It was just—nice forgetting the bad stuff for a little bit.”  
   
He looks so low Steve wants to kick himself, or maybe sweep Danny up in a crushing hug and show him how it’s done.  
   
“Last night, when—I mean,” Steve stumbles. “You looked—you looked really happy, Danny. I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that.” And oh fuck, he hadn’t meant to finish it that way, like it’s a hurt little question asking why Danny never smiles like that around Steve.  
   
“Steven,” Danny says, voice even, gaze level and serious.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“I was on drugs.” He waits a beat for Steve to get it. “In fact, I am still on drugs. Just a little bit, nothing like the horse tranquilizers they had me on yesterday, but still.”  
   
“Oh.” Steve tries to process that and can’t quite, has to shake his head. “No, Danny, I think you two could make it work, there’s just—there’s a right way—“  
   
“There is, and we could—maybe,” Danny says, puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, looking away. “I just…I don’t know if I want to.”  
   
“You didn’t… You seemed like you wanted to, before,” Steve points out, heart still pumping double time.  
   
“Drugs!” Danny says, pointing at his head. “Drugs and—fucking, daydream land, and everything’s a little bit fuzzy right now, okay? And before you ask me if I’m going to tell Rachel about this—shut up, Steven, I can see inside your brain—I am, okay, I will. We’re meeting up for coffee— _shut up_ —just coffee later today, and… Fuck, I don’t want her leaving Stan for me, do you get that? Not that she should stay if she’s miserable, of course she shouldn’t, I’m not saying that. But if it was for me…I’d feel like twice the scum I do already. Again, not that this is any of your business—“  
   
Steve flinches hard enough that Danny stops talking, and Steve has to scramble to fill the silence. “Right, no, I get it.” But then he just runs out of words. He doesn’t get it; he’s not sure he wants to. Steve turns back to his dishes when Danny’s gaze drops and lets him go.  
   
“I still can’t believe you got all this stuff,” Danny says quietly. His hands skim over plastic bags, making them crinkle.  
   
Steve’s shoulders are stiff, but he makes them lift in a shrug.  
   
“I guess you were really looking forward to it.” Danny’s voice is so gentle Steve isn’t even sure he’s supposed to be here anymore. “Grace would’ve had a blast here with you, you know?”  
   
Maybe that’s supposed to make him feel better. And alright, it does a little bit.  
   
“You know she called me Uncle Steve when I picked her up from school?” Steve blurts, ducking his head instantly to try and bite back the rest.  
   
Danny laughs, soft and fond. “Did she, now? Well, she’s got a soft spot for you, what can I say?”  
   
Steve takes a deep breath and turns around, steadies himself on the counter and tries to speak as calmly and neutral-toned as he knows how. “I’m a little bit lost, here, Danno,” he admits, eyes stuck somewhere around Danny’s elbow. “I don’t know how I can be ‘Uncle Steve’ and this still not be my business.”  
   
Danny blinks at him, taken aback so much Steve suddenly can’t look anywhere else. It’s like the thought never occurred to him. Or maybe he can’t figure out why Steve had to ask.  
   
“As a partner,” Danny starts, hand-choosing each word, “I would have told you in the incredibly unlikely event that it started affecting our job.”  
   
Steve feels his ribs contract and looks away, trying to make himself nod.  
   
“But as a friend?” Danny takes a step forward and Steve’s hip bangs into the counter before he realizes he has nowhere to retreat to. Danny’s eyes are tired, or maybe sad; Steve can’t tell. “As a friend, you might have maybe given me the idea that talking about getting back with my ex would be absolute last thing you’d want to hear.”  
   
“I don’t—“ Steve shakes his head, tries to back up and hits the counter again. “Danny, I would’ve—“  
   
“Can I try something?” Danny asks, still coming closer, hands out like he’s calming a spooked horse. Or whatever you do with horses ready to climb over everything including the kitchen sink to get away; the closest Steve has ever been to one was in Saudi Arabia on a mission he can’t talk about, and his thoughts keep spinning in circles. “You know, because I’m on the drugs or coming off a near death experience, maybe I knocked something loose up there, but I think this might—“  
   
One of his hands comes up, and rests against Steve’s face. His palm is warm, dry, fingertips curling around the edge of Steve’s jaw and brushing against his ear. Steve catches it without thinking, just the instinct to keep him there.  
   
“—work,” Danny finishes on an exhale. His eyes are flicking over every inch of Steve’s face, wide and stupidly blue.  
   
Then his other hand comes up and pushes at Steve’s chest. “Breathe, babe,” Danny orders, so Steve does. He does, and then he kisses Danny.  
   
Kissing Danny is like the sharp yank of a parachute going off, slowing a plummet but not stopping it, not in the least. And Danny, Danny kisses with his hands, of course he does, he can’t keep them still, pulling at Steve’s shirt and dragging him closer, pawing at his side, angling Steve’s mouth where he can get at it and devouring him whole.  
   
Steve’s knees buckle a little, which just makes Danny press closer and kiss him harder, licking at the embarrassing noises Steve makes and grinning into the kiss. It’s a smile Steve can feel in his toes, in the tip of his tongue, in every inch of him straining to get skin-to-skin with Danny and show him how to make some noises of his own.  
   
Looks like Danny’s one step ahead of him, has a knee between Steve’s thighs and a hand—Jesus _Christ_ , how many does he have?—tearing at Steve’s belt, ripping it open and shoving—  
   
“Wait,” Steve gasps, and groans immediately when Danny sucks his lower lip into his mouth and squirms against the grip Steve barely manages to get on his hips. “Wait, wait—God, Danny—“  
   
“Mmmmno,” Danny mumbles between eye-crinkling smiling kisses that start trailing down Steve’s neck.  
   
“No, I mean it, I— _hnnngh_.” Steve shuts his eyes tight, clinging to his resolve by his fingernails as Danny finds that spot and suckles on it. “Danny, I— _Danny.”_  
   
Danny finally snaps out of it, possibly because Steve has shoved him to arm’s length. He keeps him there, though, fingers finding purchase in Danny’s belt loops and the cut of his hips. They’re both breathing hard, Danny’s pupils blown wide and dark and startled.  
   
“I—“ he starts, and Steve shakes his head, smiles awkward and apologetic.  
   
“Remember the criminal fugitive in my basement?”  
   
Danny blinks, not following. Then—  
   
“Goddamn it!” His fingers rake through his hair and tug. “Why is Sang Min the biggest cockblock on the island?”  
   
Steve’s chuckle is mostly hysterical, but he pulls Danny close again and muffles the sound in Danny’s shoulder. “We shouldn’t, anyway,” he makes himself say when he can trust himself to speak. “You’ve got Rachel to talk to, and you’re still riding that adrenalin high, like you said—“  
   
His throat closes off and he can’t finish the rest of that thought, but Danny seems to hear it anyway, gives Steve a look that makes his breath catch. “You think I’m gonna change my mind,” he says, leaning back a little.  
   
Steve decides fast that he hates distance, he hates distance a lot, and he hardly got time to enjoy his hug this morning. And none of this back-slapping machismo to hide what it really in this time—Steve gets to tuck his face against Danny’s neck and Danny wraps his arms around him like it would take an order from the Governor herself to pry him loose.  
   
“You’re kind of stupid, you know that?” Danny mumbles against Steve’s chest, squeezing tighter for one second before he sighs and takes a reluctant step back.  
   
Steve catches his hand and laughs, grin stretching his face impossibly wide as he turns, starts nudging Danny toward the living room. “Yeah, I hear they got,” he clears his throat, “Hear they got a reason for that, now.”  
   
Danny stops in his tracks, jerking Steve back around with his physical flat-out refusal to move. And Steve knows he wants him to say it, but Steve just can’t, not yet, hopes it can be read in the look he can’t help giving Danny anytime he looks at him, lately.  
   
Eventually Danny lets out a shaky breath, and Steve gives his hand a squeeze and drags him over to the couch. Where Danny perks up immediately.  
   
“Hand job?”  
   
“Look at you, all excited for a hand job,” Steve teases, nose wrinkling in delight; he barely ducks Danny’s swipe in time. “It really has been a while for you, huh?”  
   
“It’d be way less of a while if you’d blown me in the kitchen,” Danny points out, voice dry as he starts to climb in Steve’s lap.  
   
“Can we just—“ Steve starts, blushes hot and red. And yeah, he’s a—wuss or something, but he can’t quite say the words, drags Danny down next to him and manhandles him into place, Steve’s arm around his shoulder, Danny tucked tight to Steve’s body, head pillowed on Steve’s chest. “Is this okay?” he asks, voice painfully small. He nudges Danny’s knee with his own and can’t meet Danny’s eyes.  
   
“I feel like the little spoon, Steven,” Danny says, but pokes Steve hard in the ribs when he tries to wriggle free.  
   
“Ow! I don’t mind being little spoon,” Steve tells him, which is _true._ “I just. I just want to—“ He puts his hand over Danny’s heart, so he can feel his pulse beat and his chest rise and fall all at once.  
   
Danny’s hand comes up and covers it, tracing the bones of Steve’s bruised-up knuckles. “Yeah, babe,” he says softly, “It’s okay.”  
   
“Hey Danno?”  
   
“Mm.” He doesn’t look up from where their hands are tangled.  
   
Steve swallows hard and makes himself ask. “Where did I fit in your daydreams?”  
   
Danny takes a deep breath, and Steve tries not to be distracted by the stretch of Danny’s lungs under his palm. “Oh, Steven,” he sighs. “I have never once thought you were something I could’ve imagined on my own. Besides,” he adds, while Steve is still digesting that. “You vetoed sex for the day, buddy. You don’t want me telling you about my daydreams.”  
   
His voice hits so deep Steve shivers with it, and watches Danny’s grin creep in, warm and slow.  
   
About half an hour later, with the TV turned on low for background noise, Danny says, “Hey, Steve,” and sounds serious enough to put Steve on his guard.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“I was thinking.” Danny’s frowning a little, and oh god, oh _fuck_ here it comes. “I still have Grace this weekend.”  
   
That…was not what Steve had been expecting. But it still makes something burst hot and sharp in his belly.  
   
“Rachel has her right now because I’m not sure I have the energy to keep up with an eight-year-old,” Danny says, wiggling his fingers between Steve’s. “But I was thinking. Sang Min’s off to a real safe house in the morning, and you’ll have all this free time; maybe if you wanted to run a little interference when I start winding down, if you were up to it, if you wanted—“  
   
Steve presses his face to Danny’s hair and just breathes for a moment, eyes shut tight because he’s not sure what he’s feeling but it’s too much all at once. “Yeah, Danno,” he chokes out somehow, and Danny’s head shifts and tilts up to look at him, to beam wide and kind of smug, endlessly and ridiculously fond.  
   
“Also,” Danny coughs, glancing elsewhere. “I, ah. I’m never going to love these islands like you do, okay, it’s just not gonna happen. But. And I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. There are things…things I would miss a great deal if I ever had to leave.” He clears his throat again. “Liliha's bakery, for example—“  
   
Steve kisses him for a hundred different reasons. “Maybe just one blow job,” he says, and pushes Danny laughing into the cushions.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic can be found [here](http://queenklu.livejournal.com/291382.html) on LJ if you're interested!


End file.
